


The Ninety-Third Time

by greenpantstuesday (playmelikeyourstratovarius)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Angst, Cancer, Death, M/M, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2013291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playmelikeyourstratovarius/pseuds/greenpantstuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Severin met Richard Brook, it was a complete and total accident.</p><p> </p><p>{sirarthurconandildo.tumblr.com}</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ninety-Third Time

The first time Severin met Richard Brook, it was a complete and total accident.

Severin never moved, never breathed, never did anything without purpose. He would bustle from one place to another, and because of this, he was deadly efficient. He was in between point A and point B (more like point G and point H, as it _was_ late afternoon) when he rounded a corner and smacked right into a short, brown-haired, doe-eyed young man.

He noted that their impact had spilt the shorter man's coffee all down the front of the deep green jumper the other wore, and immediately stuttered over an apology.

The stranger just looked up at him, a small smile on his lips, and shrugged. "You can replace it. Meet me at the coffee shop on King at six." And that was that. He sauntered off, not giving a name, not giving any contact information.

So, Severin continued on with his day.

 

The second time Severin met Richard Brook, he was late.

Work had kept him busy until half-six, and he didn't make it to King Street until nearly seven. When he entered the shop, he noticed the stranger from earlier, wearing a purple jumper now, sitting at the table in the corner, reading a book. He strode over, sat down, and started yet another apology.

One long, pale finger was extended, and Severin's lips snapped shut right away. The brunet finished his chapter, placed a bookmark between the pages, and smiled sweetly up at him. "I'll have a regular iced mocha, with whole milk, and extra whipped cream," he said, resting his chin in his hand, blinking brown eyes up at him.

Severin sat for a moment, but he nodded, standing and making his way to the counter. He ordered himself a hot cup of pomegranate-blueberry tea. Once he had paid and collected the drinks, he returned to the table, sliding the stranger's drink and a straw towards him.

Without a word, the straw was picked up, opened, pushed into his cup. He sipped long and slow at the drink, before speaking again.

"Thank you," he said.

"I'm Richard Brook," he said.

"You should call me sometime," he said, as he got up, picked up his book, dropped a napkin with a number scrawled on it, and was out the door.

And Severin did.

 

The third time Severin met Richard Brook, it was in the park, after the sun had set.

Severin was the first one there that time, sitting on a park bench, eyes in his lap, reading emails. Suddenly there were legs in front of his, and clammy hands covering his eyes.

"If you spend all your time looking down, you'll never see anything interesting," Richard's voice breathed from above him, words dancing along on a smooth Irish lilt.

The hands were removed, and Severin looked up, giving Richard a small smile. Today the brunet wore a black jumper. The dark colour made his skin look even more pale, and the moonlight brought it to life, made it glow.

"Come with me," Richard said, and turned to walk away.

And Severin did.

They wound through the park, up a hill, til they were at the highest point. From up here, there seemed to be so many more stars. Up here, where the lights of the city didn't touch the sky. Richard laid down in the grass, spread out to mirror the stars above him.  
"Lay with me," Richard said.

And Severin did.

A cold clammy hand pushed its way into his, and Severin held those fingers tight, squeezed them a bit, even. They laid in silence, delighting in the colour of the night, the beauty of the stars. There was no need for words. There was no need to fill the space between them.

Finally, after a long time, Richard spoke again. "My brother used to like the stars, when he was alive," he whispered.

Severin didn't ask what happened to Richard's brother. He felt that it would ruin the evening, that it would make Richard upset, and for some strange reason, he didn't want this near stranger to feel that way.

Richard's small body shifted closer, shivered. Severin's arm wound around the Irishman's thin waist. The night was cool, but Severin was always warm. Richard's damp hand found Severin's cheek, turned his head so they were breathing into the same two inches of space. There was a brief touch of lips, Richard's soft and warm against his own, and then he was released. Severin took that as his cue to turn back towards the stars.

Severin watched as Richard got up and stretched, and then stepped over him to walk across the grass.

"Call me, we'll do this again," he called over his shoulder.

And Severin did.

 

The fourth time Severin met Richard Brook was at Richard's own flat.

Severin had called him in the afternoon, when he knew that the man would be on break at the theatre, and Richard had quickly recited his address and hung up. Severin kept it in his steel-trap mind all day, and was there, on time, with a Chinese takeaway and a few bad movies for them to share.

Richard answered the door with a cat in his arms and a tired smile on his face.

"I'm fine," he said to Severin's questions. "They just work us really hard at the theatre. What movies did you bring?"

They ended up on Richard's sofa, Severin with one arm slung around Richard, Richard with the cat - Archie - laying across his lap. Everything was soft, and sweet, and comfortable. Severin felt a soft twinge of emotion in his chest when Richard looked up at him, eyes wide and sad and tired.

"Stay the night with me," he said.

And Severin did.

 

The ninth time Severin met Richard Brook, it was after the play that Richard had sent him a ticket to.

The little brunet was buzzing with leftover energy from the stage, and he bounced right up to Severin, who had a red rose in his hand and a beaming grin on his face. Richard took the flower, inhaling its scent deeply, and then blinked up at Severin.

"Did you like it?" Richard asked, and when Severin nodded, he was already speaking again. "I'm so glad. I was worried you wouldn't. It seemed a bit...dramatic for you."

A short, trilling giggle left Richard, and Severin wanted that laugh to be tangible. He wanted to bathe in it, to wrap himself up warm and cosy in it. Instead, Richard stood on his toes and kissed that laugh into Severin's mouth. It was sweet, it was warm, it was everything that Severin was not used to.

When they pulled apart, Severin's green eyes fixed on Richard's deep browns, pupils dilated the smallest bit, almost indetectable.

"I have to talk to the press," Richard said.

"Come by my flat in two hours," he said.

And Severin did.

 

The tenth time Severin met Richard Brook, it was at his flat, two hours later.

Richard opened the door wearing nothing but his purple jumper, a pair of briefs, and a smooth, inviting smile. He stepped back to let Severin into the flat, and closed the door. It was almost completely dark, but then clammy fingers were closing around his own, leading him down the hall, and Severin followed blindly.

He heard the whisper of fabric on skin, and in the sliver of moonlight coming from the window, he could tell that he was in Richard's bedroom. The light landed on Richard's ankle, making his skin glow bright, white, perfect. Severin leaned forward and kissed that ankle, and that earned him an approving sigh from somewhere above him.

"Come up here," Richard's voice said.

And Severin did.

He slowly stripped out of his clothing, toed out of shoes and socks, pulled the jumper over Richard's head. Lube and a rubber were pressed into his hand, and he asked about a light, wondering if he would be allowed the pleasure of seeing Richard Brook in all his glory.

Richard simply laughed. "I'd prefer if you keep the lights off. Appreciate my glory some other way." He took Severin's hands, lead them over his skin. Severin could feel bumps and blemishes, scars and marks that he couldn't identify, but it was all so beautiful that Severin didn't ask anymore questions.

"Make love to me," Richard breathed through the darkness.

And Severin did.

 

The seventeenth time Severin met Richard Brook, it was unplanned.

He had time to spare, and he was near Richard's flat, so he dropped in with the spare key that Richard had revealed under the mat.

He called through the flat for Richard, to find it empty except for Archie, who wound gleefully between his legs. Severin wandered aimlessly, looking over things that Richard had left lying about, enjoying taking the time to look over a quiet slice of Richard's life.

On the desk sat an open day planner. The days were all crossed out methodically, and on this date there was an appointment circled in red pen. Sebastian balked when he read what was written, in Richard's lazy, curvy handwriting.

_Chemo. 3:15._

"It's terminal, they say," said Richard's voice from somewhere behind him.

Severin whirled around, feeling half-guilty, half-shattered. If he looked hard, he could see that Richard had just been getting more and more tired-looking, that his eyes looked more dull, that his hair looked thinner than the day they had met.

"The chemo was keeping me stagnating for a while. It's not really working much, these days." Richard's arms were crossed in front of his chest, guarding himself, and his face looked stony.  
Severin realised all at once that Richard expected him to leave. As if reading the realisation on his face, Richard spoke again.

"It'll just hurt you in the long run," he said.

"But I would prefer if you would stay with me, til then," he said.

And Severin did.

 

The forty-first time Severin met Richard Brook, it was in the hospital.

Richard was laying in a stark-white bed, eyes open and staring at nothing. He glanced at Severin when he came in with a single red rose, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Good, this room needs some colour," he said, voice hoarse, eyes wet.

Severin bent over the bed, pressing a kiss onto Richard's lips, a silent encouragement, a breath of strength. He sits beside the bed, ignoring work, turning his phone off, wanting to do nothing but sit at Richard's bedside to tell him stories and make him laugh and take his mind off of how dreadful everything was.

He didn't leave until a nurse came to shoo him out. Richard caught his hand as he stood, staring at him with wet brown eyes.

"Come back first thing in the morning," he said.

"I want you here when I open my eyes," he said.

And Severin did.

 

The sixty-fifth time Severin meets Richard Brook, it was in the recovery room of the hospital.

Richard was crying silently, his forearm thrown over his eyes, tears leaking down his cheeks. Severin clutched his hand tightly, lips pressed together, words of comfort lost in transit from his brain to his mouth.

The operation had been unsuccessful, and it was too dangerous to repeat the process. Richard would die if they cut into him again, and Richard would die if they didn't. Nobody wins, and nothing is fair. At least, those are the words the brunet keeps repeating under his breath.

"Why," he whispered. Not a question, not even a statement. An emotion. _Why._ Severin felt it, too. _Why_ was this happening, _why_ was this a world where something like this could even happen, _why_ did it have to be them.

Thirty days if Richard stayed in the hospital after recovery. Ten if he didn't. And that was on the generous end.

Richard removed his forearm, stared up at Severin, still a bit groggy, voice hoarse from tears.

"I want to go home," he said.

Severin nodded, squeezed his hand. Richard would be comfortable, he would be sure of it. He would go out peacefully, in his own bed. Warm, loved. Not here, hooked up to machines and wires, with the hustle and bustle of nurses hovering around him all the time. No, it would just be Severin and Archie at home.

"Tell me you love me," he said.

And Severin did.

 

The ninety-third time Severin met Richard Brook, it was in their bedroom.

Archie had been shut out of the room, as the cat hair irritated Richard. Severin and Richard were laying together, warm and nearly nude, Severin's arm around the small body that seemed to get smaller by the day. But he supposed that was what bodies did when there was no nutritional intake.

"I think this is it, I think my end is coming," said Richard's voice from somewhere below his chin.

"Move me, I want to look at you," he said.

And Severin did.

He laid Richard flat on his back, and propped himself above the man on one elbow, brow furrowed, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears clouding his view of Richard.

A cold, clammy hand reached up, gently stroked along his cheek.

"Sometimes I wish you'd never spilt that coffee on me. I would have never known you, you would have never known me. You could have had a life separate from this," he said sweetly. "But most of the time, I'm so, so glad I could spend the time that I had left with you."

"Promise you won't forget me," he said.

And Severin did.  
He promised. He swore up and down that nobody would ever touch his heart and soul like Richard had. Nobody could ever come close.

"Now, hold on to me," he said.

"I don't want to be cold," he said.

And Severin did.

 

The final time Severin met Richard Brook, it was at his grave stone.

Severin sat on the freshly turned plot, and he cried. He cried all the tears he had held back when Richard cried enough for the both of them. He cried all the tears that were hidden because Richard had asked him to stay, to be strong.  
When all the tears were gone, Severin stood. He kissed his fingers and pressed that kiss to the headstone, laying a vibrant red rose just below the etched date of Richard's death. He felt a brush of clammy fingers against the nape of his neck, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, imagining that when he opened them, Richard would be in front of him, in his too-big jumper and dark briefs.

But this wasn't a fairy tale, and Severin wasn't the hero, anyway. That had always been Richard. Always brave, always cheerful, always a free spirit. Everything Severin could have ever wanted, and everything Severin would ever want.

 _Don't forget me,_ Richard had said.

And Severin didn't.

**Author's Note:**

> W O W   
> so that happened  
> and I'm not even sorry  
> (except for the typos / grammar mistakes - I don't currently have a beta)


End file.
